“I have spoken too many truths to-night. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me. The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. "It is an ordinary wedding," he added; "some shopkeeper's daughter. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. ” “Then, whoever he may be, he is not Meysey Hill,” Courtlaw said. I’m so glad you’re not angry. ’ ‘You’re going to break into the house? You’re mad. All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them. ” There was silence between them. " "But you can imagine it.
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